


every sunday I wake

by eudaimon



Series: South, South [5]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The strategic plan is this: today, laundry and tomorrow, the road. Brad and Nate get ready to leave Costa Rica and continue on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every sunday I wake

_Throw your arms around me  
Let's keep this quiet_

 

On their last day at the _Hotel California_ , Brad lies naked on top of rumpled sheets and watches Nate sort laundry. That morning, Nate kneeled and wrapped the long wound on Brad's thigh with clean white dressings, taped another over his ribs. Brad lies there with one arm pillowed under his head and watches Nate move around the dim bedroom, naked as the day that he was born. Sometimes, it's almost difficult to look at Nate straight on; it reminds Brad of sitting on the beach with his heels dug into the warm sand, his oakleys in his hand and his face turned up towards the sky.

One day, he's going to surf again.  
He turns his head, licks his lips and imagines that he tastes salt.

The strategic plan is this: today, laundry and tomorrow, the road. They've had four days of sleeping side by side and, last night, they lay curled together, Nate's long leg hooked against his hip. He wants to say that he feels whole, that he's starting to feel more like himself but, perhaps, that's not true. 

What he's starting to feel like is a _part_ of a whole, his irregular edges fitting in against Nate's side. And he'll never be whole again but maybe that's okay. Maybe he'll find a way to fumble on. It's not his style but, fuck it; he's got a faithful heart and Marines have always made do with what they have.

Nate leans over the bed and tags Brad to his feet. He favours his left foot, for a moment but then finds his footing. He wraps his arms around Nate's neck.  
It's not running. He'll never run again.

For a moment, though, swaying and off-balance with the man he loves, it almost feels like dancing.

The things he carries with him:

> 3 t-shirts (all black)  
> 2 pairs of jeans (blue)  
> 1 pair of combats  
> 1 black Recon hoodie  
> 1 leather jacket (expensive)  
> 6 pairs of boxer briefs (white)  
> 4 pairs of socks (white)  
> 1 copy of _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?_  
>  1 watch, 1 Leatherman, 1 credit card  
> 1 pair of dog-tags, 1 silver charm shaped like an open palm  
> 3 fractures, knitted closed  
> 2 wounds, stretched and stitched and slipping towards healed  
> Rage and love in equal measure  
> 1 pair of black boots (worn).

Nate is wholer, cleaner but came only slightly more prepared. 


End file.
